A Plate of Spaghetti and Half a Glass of Champagne
by anonymouslyme8
Summary: Mulder gives Scully a ride to her apartment and she invites him up for dinner. But what will she find for dessert? MSR, RST, PWP smut. A "what might have happened off-camera" story after Season 7 "Millenium." Hope you enjoy!


_Author's note: In case you can't tell, I enjoy writing RST stories that could have happened off-camera at certain times during the series. This particular story takes place some time after "Millenium," more than a few days but not more than a couple months. There really aren't any spoilers as long as you know why shippers herald "Millenium."_

_As everyone else on here, I cherish any feedback you care to leave. Hope you enjoy_!

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><p>"Need a ride home, Scully?"<p>

She looked at Robin, her ride from this morning, to ask if it was alright. Robin grinned at her and winked. Scully blushed at what she was implying, and tried to duck her head to hide it from Mulder. Just this morning Scully had confessed to Robin exactly what she would to do Mulder if she could ever trap him in her apartment.

"Sure, Mulder. Thanks."

She picked up her coat and purse and waved goodbye to Robin, who winked again.

"Scully, you're blushing," Mulder teased. "I hope you're not embarrassed to be seen with me."

She cleared her throat, and felt her blush deepen now that she'd been called out. "No, Mulder. It just seems hot in here, doesn't it?"

He shrugged. "See you around, Robin," he said, and he and Scully walked out the door.

The ride to her apartment was filled with inane conversation about work and hoops they had to jump through, about the weather, about waking up early. There was more under the surface, but it was never breached. They both hovered around the unspoken, unaddressed emotion which had been building since their New Year's kiss.

He pulled to a stop in front of her apartment, and they looked at each other. She struggled to break the silence, and a strong impulse came over her. She tried to process it, think of the consequences of acting on it, but her brain was frozen like an overloaded computer. But the silence was so thick she was desperate to break it, so she acted on the only action that her brain had come up with. "Hey, Mulder, would you like to come up for dinner? As thanks for the ride."

The space between the question and the answer seemed much longer than it was in reality as her heart pounded.

"Sure, Scully, if you're offering. I think all I have in my apartment is some sour milk."

She laughed, relieved and nervous. They got out of his car and climbed the front steps in silence. The elevator was waiting on the first floor, and that ride was also endured in silence.

Scully cursed herself for inviting him up. She didn't know what she was going to make for him; she didn't have much in the way of groceries, as they had been so busy on their previous case she hadn't had a chance to go shopping. She was going through her pantry and fridge in her mind as the floors ticked past. She thought she might have a can of tomatoes and enough dry herbs to throw together some semblance of a "homemade" sauce, and what pantry was complete without some spaghetti?

Once her mind fell into relative silence, she realized what her body had been doing unsupervised. She felt this cold knot settling in her abdomen, and the heat was fleeing from it. Southward. Mulder was standing so close to her she could feel his body heat, smell his aftershave, and it was having quite an effect on her. She knew exactly what she wanted to happen after dinner, something she had run through in her mind many times snuggled warm and sleepy in her bed after a day of proximity. He was such an attractive man, it was a natural reaction for her, as a human being; his appearance indicated his fitness, and the primal parts of her wanted his genes in her children.

The elevator chimed, and she jumped. He smiled down at her as the doors slid open, and gestured for her to go first. "Guilty conscience, Scully?"

Oh yes. Guilty that her partner turned her on so damn much, without doing anything but standing next to her in the elevator. She just frowned at him in response, and pulled her apartment key out of her purse.

"Make yourself comfortable, Mulder," she said, gesturing at her couch and television. "I hope you're okay with spaghetti."

"Sure, Scully."

She took his suit coat and he plopped on her couch, loosening his tie and undoing his top button. Damn him. Stop looking so disheveled and ridiculously sexy. She was having a hard enough time ignoring her natural feelings today already. She didn't know what it was about today, but she was feeling very sexually susceptible. Her medical side was kicking in, then, telling her that she was at a peak hormone level for that month. Her body was telling her she was fertile and that she should find a genetically ideal mate and fuck his brains out a few times. The problem was that a genetically incredible male was lounging on her couch, ripe for the fucking.

She shook her head to clear it and put a pot of water on to boil. She broke out a can opener and dumped the tomatoes and some herbs into a pot. So it wasn't going to be gourmet, or anyone's grandmother's recipe. It was better than Mulder's sour milk, wasn't it? She found some packets of parmesan cheese in a drawer from the last time she had ordered pizza and surreptitiously emptied them into a little bowl. Hey, he didn't have to know her secrets, right?

As she searched for something to make it seem like she actually had groceries in her apartment, she found a bottle of champagne stashed in her fridge. It was from New Year's, but they had been on a case, so she had never gotten to open it. She also had half a package of frozen breadsticks and a pint of chocolate brownie batter ice cream. Close enough.

She dumped some food onto a couple of plates and brought it to Mulder on the couch. She was trying to ignore the fact that her mind was taunting her. It was making fun of her for making her arousal so scientific when, it insisted, there were emotions involved. Just cooking for this man was setting all of her female on edge. That was the only way she could explain it. Mulder was turning her into a pool of hormones and woman just by sitting on her couch taking food from her kitchen.

"Sorry it's not fancier," she said with a laugh as she returned to the kitchen for the champagne.

"Looks wonderful. I probably would have been ordering cheap pizza from the place down the street."

She set the champagne on the coffee table and sat next to him on the couch. They started to eat, and she tried to ignore her pounding heart. She was impressed with her creativity; the sauce wasn't half bad, and was certainly better than Prego. The breadsticks were probably good enough for frozen. She hoped she had fooled him into thinking she was domestic enough.

"This is good, Scully. Thanks."

"No problem, Mulder."

She poured two glasses of champagne and cleared the dishes. They sat back on the couch, and Mulder put his feet up on the coffee table. Funnily enough, she didn't feel an urge to tell him to move them. It was nice to relax after a long day, and they were both comfortable with each other. Well, Scully was less comfortable. His nonchalant pose was not helping her predicament. As her natural urge to eat was satisfied, her other urges were expanding to fill the gap.

She felt a burning between her legs and shifted to try to alleviate the discomfort. She glanced over at him to see if he had noticed and immediately regretted it; it was him looking so Mulder-like on her couch that caused the problem in the first place, and seeing it again was only making it worse.

"So, Scully, what's for dessert?" Mulder teased, looking oh-so-very charming as he sipped his champagne.

_I know what I want,_ said the randy part of her mind, high on hormones and a little bit of bubbly. _A big slice of Mulder pie, with chocolate syrup_.

"Chocolate ice cream." Or at least that's what she thought she said. Which only added to her confusion as she took inventory of her surroundings.

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><p>Scully was kissing him. He didn't know how it had happened. He hadn't even seen her move. One second he was lounging on her couch teasing her, and the next they were making out like hormonal teenagers in the back of a first car. He remembered asking for dessert, but he had been expecting a couple of Oreos, not this.<p>

I mean, Mulder never considered himself a dessert man, but he would convert for this.

This seemed to come out of nowhere. They had kissed, he supposed, but that was on New Year's. He had considered it a romantic impulse, but he hardly expected her to think of it as anymore than a friendly gesture. Tradition. In fact, he hadn't ever guessed that Scully had any romantic leanings toward him at all.

And yet she was on top of him, kissing him like he had never been kissed before.

To his chagrin, he realized he was beginning to...react to her touch. To be fair, she had shocked him. He hadn't had time to prepare himself for the onslaught of sensation. Oh, and it was such sensation!

He wondered what had brought on her actions. It could be simple biology, he supposed. He could assume from as well as he knew her that she hadn't...gotten any for quite a while. Maybe she was desperate. Maybe, just maybe, she found him particularly attractive. Oh, he liked that idea, a little bit too much, in fact, and felt his reaction to her get quite a bit-ahem-stronger.

He expected for her to come to her senses at any moment and kick him out of her apartment, lipstick metaphorically smeared across his face. But, strangely, she seemed to only be getting more passionate. Her fingers tugged at his tie until it came undone, and she was pulling his shirt further unbuttoned. Oh, God, his nerves were on fire!

And then he realized something else: Scully was unabashedly humping his leg. He wasn't sure at first if it was just the motion of her kisses, but she moved from a subtle, occasional back-and-forth motion to a hard grinding against his femur. She was breaking her kisses more often now to gasp a breath, and he realized just how turned-on she was. Scully was freaking humping his leg!

He glanced down at the champagne, thinking she must have had more than he thought. But, her glass wasn't even empty and the bottle couldn't have had more than two glasses poured from it. This was pure Scully, with nothing in her but a plate of spaghetti and half a glass of champagne. What was in that spaghetti, anyway?

She pulled his shirt all of the way open and laid kisses down his bare flesh. He shuddered as every inch of him was set on fire and bathed in ice simultaneously. He was so hard now he was straining against his zipper, and Scully's thigh was brushing against him with every tantalizing circle of her hips. He looked up at her in awe and admiration, seeing the animal lust in her eyes. Arousal prickled down his spine, pausing in his gut and settling in his erection. He wondered if he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Scully," he heard himself moan, and wondered if the sound would startle her out of her reverie. Instead, it seemed to spur her on. She pulled away and tore her shirt over her head.

"Scully, what the hell?"

"Shut up, Mulder."

He had never been more content to shut his mouth in his life. This animal side of Scully was quickly becoming his favorite side. He couldn't count all the times he had imagined this very thing happening, the times he had fantasized about Scully doing this to him. The fact that it was Scully's idea was making his arousal almost unbearable. Just to imagine that he had this effect on this incredible, amazing woman was better than any orgasm he could ever have.

He looked at Scully again, trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming, and she was naked, her breasts swinging slightly as she pressed her naked pussy into his leg. _Oh shit_, he thought with a shudder. He had never been this aroused in his life. He was so hard he didn't know how he wasn't just coming from the sight of her over him, from the slight touches of her thigh on his cock. He knew if he let himself concentrate on what was happening he would come, so he was trying to ignore it and relish it at the same time, as much as possible.

He knew he was making stupid noises, groans and gasps, but he couldn't stop himself. She was doing incredible things to him, and she hadn't even got his pants off yet. He couldn't even get her name out fully, but instead broken syllables escaped from him. "Scuh-ohgod" and "Scuh-uh-uh-leeeeee" were the most frequent. He was silly delirious and she was the one taking her pleasure.

Oh God.

She was unbuttoning his fly, unzipping his pants. Her touch was light on him, but electric jolts were traveling through him every time her fingers brushed him. He had definitely forgotten how to breathe this time. Oh damn this was incredible.

Scully was so incredible above him, looking like a sex goddess. He was in awe of her face, taken over by primitive desire for him. When she pulled his pants and boxers off, she took in his erection with quite appreciative eyes. He had to quickly recall baseball stats to prevent himself from coming on her just from the feel of her eyes slipping over him.

She settled back down onto his thigh, and oh God was she wet! She moaned at the skin-against-skin contact and the sound chased goosebumps down his skin. He had definitely never been this aroused in his life. It almost hurt.

And then, she took his cock in her hands and impaled herself on it.

"Mulderrrrr," she purred.

Goddamn. Sex could NOT get better than this. The look on her face was rapturous, like this was what she needed more than anything to feel alive. Maybe it was. He was so in awe of her sexual exaltation that all he wanted was to see her face when she reached her climax. He just wanted to touch her to feel how aroused she was for him, so he slid his hand between her folds as she bobbed up, down, and around on his swollen dick.

Her clit was swollen, hard, like a little hot pebble slicked with oil. He had such reverence for the extent of her arousal that he circled her clit absently with his finger, watching her face as pleasure washed over her. As his finger brushed her, her strokes slowed and she leaned so he was plunging deeper into her.

"Yes, Mulder," she gasped. "Yes, Fox." Her voice was breathy and yet real, much more thrilling than any porno or phone service. And it was his name she was gasping, his cock that she was sliding on. She was encouraging him even as he couldn't even move. He was so aroused he could do nothing but lay there for fear of finishing too soon and robbing himself of the grand finale, of her orgasm.

He moved his finger around her in little counterclockwise circles, growing faster and lighter as his pleasure tried to break through his determination to make it last. He couldn't help but buck his hips just slightly against her slow, tight strokes, and she smirked at him. He knew she was feeling it, though, because her movements too were becoming less rhythmic and more desperate. She was practically writhing, her legs tightening and her back stiffening only to relax again as she resolved to retain some semblance of control beneath his eyes.

She twitched above him, and he lost muscle control for just long enough that his finger pressed hard enough into her clit that he could feel her pubic bone.

"Oh," she gasped softly, and her eyes squeezed shut. He felt her toes curl, her big toenail grazed his calf on its way past. Her lips parted just slightly, and small incoherent noises were coming from her throat. He knew exactly what was happening, and his finger jerked across her clit faster, determined to bring her over the edge.

"Shit, Mulder," she gasped, her voice barely still in it, and he felt her tighten around him. "Oh yes." She was seizing tighter than any woman even had for him. He had no idea it was possible for a woman to come this hard. "Yes, yes, yes. Yes, Mulder. Yes, Fox."

Her mouth dropped open and she drew in a huge audible breath. She was spasming around him in little fluttery ripples, and he was so immersed in the ego boost a man gets from making a woman come that he didn't realize what it was doing to him until it was too late.

His shoulders lifted from the couch with the strength of his ejaculation. She was still thrusting lightly as she rode out the aftershocks of her climax, and it was giving him the most unbelievable satisfaction. He knew there would be a mess on her couch, but it was obvious that she didn't care. She cupped his testicles and massaged them until it felt like he was completely spent, that he wouldn't be able to ejaculate again for a week.

And yet he couldn't get over the bliss that he had seen on her face. He had done that to her, and he would like to do it again at least once a day for the rest of his life. It was so powerful to him. All he wanted was for her to experience ecstasy again and again and again. There was nothing he wanted more.

As she pulled herself off his softening cock, he couldn't bring himself to stop massaging her clit. He had made her come once, but once was not enough. Not yet. He was going to make her come again, and if he could, harder than the last time.

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><p>She didn't know what had come over her, but she felt not an ounce of regret. That was definitely the best orgasm she had ever had. He had touched her during intercourse without her urging or suggestion. No man had ever done it before without her encouragement, nor had one ever done it so effectively, so expertly.<p>

And, damn, he was still doing it.

He had gotten his pleasure, and she had gotten hers, but he was still touching her. Contentment and determination were commingled on his face, and he was watching hers eagerly for suggestion of more pleasure on the horizon.

It was fast approaching.

She hadn't recovered fully from her previous orgasm, so she was oversensitive. Every time he hit her clit the right way, her legs twitched and her breath caught in her throat. It was starting to feel really hot in the room. Not just sex-hot, but oh-my-God-approaching-second-orgasm hot. Sweat drenched her, and as he brought her lubrication from her vagina to cover her clit, she humped his finger hard.

This man really was incredible.

She began to whimper. It was hard sometimes going from oversensitive to orgasm, and it was feeling so damn good it hurt. He opened his mouth to say something, and she opened her eyes long enough to give him a death glare.

"Don't you dare stop, Mulder."

He grinned, and she closed her eyes again. She clutched him for dear life as her toes curled so hard she thought she might sprain them all.

"Shitshitshit," she was saying under her breath. And then, "Oh, God, YES!"

She was soaring, her poor sex-worn anatomy was convulsing, and she decided she was never going to let this man go. A wonderful warmth and contentment was spreading through her body and settling in her muscles. She was pooling onto his wonderful form, absolutely liquefied by the feelings, both physical and emotional. She had fucked HER Mulder, her wonderful, amazing, sexy-as-hell Mulder. The man she loved.

And he had fucked her back. She didn't know if she was imagining it, but she thought she might have seen love in his eyes. It was masked by the lust, yes, but she could have sworn it was there, especially in the last grin he had given her. And for now, it was good enough.


End file.
